


one-upsmanship

by casualbird



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Comedy, Fishing, Fluff, M/M, No Spoilers, Post-Canon, at least i hope it's funny, himbo/morosexual dynamics, noodling was not a tag and perhaps that's for the best.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:33:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23235517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualbird/pseuds/casualbird
Summary: Of the outdoor arts, fishing is definitely Linhardt's game.Caspar fully intends to beat him at it, by the stupidest method imaginable.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 14
Kudos: 85





	one-upsmanship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Acecasinova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acecasinova/gifts).



"Come to think, Caspar," drawled Linhardt idly, parting a thick tangle of willow fronds with a conjured gust of wind, "weren't we going fishing?" 

His husband's knapsack was full to bursting--whatever with. Caspar hadn't let him see before they'd left, said it was a surprise.

Linhardt decided that he liked surprises, and followed him into the brush without complaint. Hadn't even looked back, but now... well, he'd realized that he hadn't checked whether Caspar'd brought the fishing poles or not. Generally, they stuck out from the top of his pack, whipping cheery in the breeze, but. Nothing.

His husband just laughed, as bright and barking as ever. "We are--but we're not gonna need any poles to do it." As if this was the most obvious thing in the world.

Linhardt's interest was piqued, if it hadn't been before--he raised an eyebrow, shot his sweet husband a savvy little glare. The effect was somewhat diminished when he half-tripped over a tree root, but he felt the message got across nonetheless. Caspar snorted, but after he's finished with that, looks adequately challenged.

"You're finally giving in, then, hm? Going to beg me to show you my ways?" His tone was airy, cockeyed, slipping through a sly smile. One of the only things Linhardt had ever felt merited effort was fishing, and his study of the matter was longer-lived, more vigorous than almost anything else. He could fish with a pole, yes, and better than most, but... after a while, that began to feel pedestrian.

So he experimented with lures, tied flies until his fingertips were ridged with calluses, laced them with magic to make them all the more enticing. After that, netting, trapping, trawling from a small sailboat spurred on by conjured wind. And then more esoteric techniques--the jewel in Linhardt's crown, so to speak, was his development of a spell that could simply arrest a fish in motion, leave it hanging in the air.

He took pride in this--it was intensely practical, and showy, tremendously impressive. Moreover, it could be carried out simply, lying lazy in the shade on a riverbank. The best of it, though, was the humanity. Linhardt never fished for keeps, and this method, unlike a hook through the lip or a long wait in a trap, constituted only a moment's inconvenience for his quarry.

Caspar had always been _blindingly_ jealous. A subpar fisherman, Caspar could never quite muster up the patience to sit tranquil on some dock, to wait for a nibble on the line. He'd never remember to check a trap, boats made him feel ill, and frankly, above all, he made far too much noise.

So. With all of his superiority as a sportsman--his skill in pitching tents, penchant for sleeping in the dirt, willingness to tangle with badgers and bears--Linhardt was altogether quite smug to have him beaten here.

Caspar couldn't _abide_ it. Even then, tromping through this wildness, Linhardt could see his jaw set, his eye twitch.

"Not on your life!" he spit, as if this was war. And if it was, well. It's better than the last war Linhardt was in, so he'd take it. "I don't need your fancy tricks--I can catch a fish without a pole, without a net, nothin', just like you!"

A laugh, ringing over the scream of cicadas, the sound of running water just within earshot. "My lord husband," said Linhardt, the way he does when Caspar leaves his towels on the floor, when he dives into bed with frozen toes at Linhardt's calves, "how _ever?"_

Caspar just fixed him with a braggadocious grin--the kind of smile that, if you got into a bar brawl with him, would be the last thing you'd see before waking up in the gutter.

"You'll see! C'mon," he urged, tilting into a jog, "almost there!"

Linhardt sighed, picked up his pace. Despite himself--despite the aloof, collected scholar he fancies himself--felt the boundlessness of his love get just a little wider.

They really were almost there; moments later the trees parted, the thinning kudzu giving way to a bright sky, a pebbled bank, a wide, slow-flowing river. _Yes,_ Linhardt thought, _I could nap here. Quite happily. For days._

Perhaps Caspar might even let him, once he got through giving Linhardt what for. And in the interim--it was no hardship to watch him like this, tearing for the waterline, shucking off his clothes and leaving them for dead, hollering gleeful the way he does during a spar.

He barreled in to his waist, barely letting the resistance slow him down, making a hell of a splash. (It's sort of a habit of his, really--every time he bathes, the floor ends up waterlogged.) Turned, then, waving wild as if Linhardt could possibly have lost him, crowed "the water's GREAT!"

Caspar, Linhardt knew, would declaim the greatness of any water he immerses himself in, whether a Dagdan hot spring or a frigid Almyran glacier lake. But it was a warm enough day, and Linhardt had always been weak, been quick to humor him. So he peeled out of his sweat-plastered sundress, neglected to fold the thing before leaving it on a flat rock. He wore a shift underneath, and even though Caspar had stripped to his breeches, that was quite enough undressing as far as Linhardt's concerned. Left his shoes on, too--the riverbank was rocky.

By the time he's waded in, Caspar was already swimming circles around him, in that struggling dog-paddle Linhardt has always found charming and worrying in more or less equal measure. There was a slimy frond of lake-weed in his hair; Linhardt grimaced, but picked it out all the same.

"Now," said Linhardt, putting up his own hair. "What is it you wanted to show me?"

His husband beamed wide and wild, the cat that got the cream _and_ the canary _and_ a scritch behind the ears.

"Noodling!" As if he'd said 'a three-tiered chocolate cake!' or 'a day all to oneself!' Linhardt couldn't stifle a little laugh.

"And what, pray tell, the fuck is that?"

"Catfisting!" No further explanation.

Linhardt narrowed his eyes, was _this_ close to calling him 'my lord husband' again. Or perhaps even 'Caspar Aylwin Hevring von Bergliez,' if he kept on in that vein.

Caspar splashed him in the face, which he probably deserved for being cranky.

"So after you went to bed the other night, I went down for a few pints, right?" Yes, Linhardt remembered. Remembered magicking away another hangover, bustling downstairs for some emergency scrambled eggs and sausage. "Well anyway, I met this old guy, right? Real scruffy, like he lives in a cave or something? Coolest guy I've ever met!"

On their grand adventure, as Caspar and Linhardt Do The World, Caspar met a new 'coolest person ever' approximately twice a week. It was helplessly endearing.

"Anyway, we're talking, and I tell him that I just can't beat my cute husband at fishing, and he gives me--oh, I can't wait for you to see it! So there are these holes, right? These huge fish live in 'em, catfish?"

"Heard of catfish."

A frantic nod. "Okay, so you shove your hand, or like, your leg in there? And the fish'll--just you wait and see!"

"If you drown," warned Linhardt, though he was unable to keep the levity out of his tone, "I will be very cross with you."

"Nah," said Caspar, with a wide, splashing gesture. "I'll be fine, I'm always fine. 'Sides, I brought you with me, and I trust the whole entire shit out of you!"

Linhardt reached out, tangling his fingers in his dumb husband's wet hair. "Alright, Caspar, no need to keep buttering me up. Go do the stupid thing, I'm watching."

And Caspar darted in to kiss him, pulled away just as fast, scowling--Linhardt's cheek tasted like river water, and whose fault was that? But he's gone after that, in a split second, hustling for the bank, lunging underwater every now and again. Tracing the river's edge, calling out something about finding those holes.

It was quite the display, really--Caspar, as ever, wasn't holding anything back. Linhardt watched from a dead man's float, so fond he'd had no idea what else to do with himself, until Caspar resurfaced once again, spluttering and dripping and flagging Linhardt down like he's just caught sight of an invading army.

"Did you find something?" Presumably--but he also could have just seen an interesting bug, or stubbed his toe on a rock. Everything is news for Caspar. Either way, Linhardt started for him in a meandering backstroke, humming as he came.

"REALLY BIG HOLE!"

"Oh?"

"HUGE! FUCK! WATER IN MY EYES! BABY!" He was scrubbing at them furious with his wet hands, really only making it worse. Linhardt cocked a little smile, motioning to help. He'd learned to cast Physic enough times in a day that he didn't mind burning one to get the sting out of Caspar's eyes.

"Thank you, Linny! Now," he grabbed at his husband's shoulders once he's close enough, manhandling him into the sturdiest of Linhardt's possible stances, facing the bank. "I'm gonna need you to hold me up while I stick my foot in there, okay?"

Linhardt obliged, gathering Caspar up under the arms, letting him twist back for a kiss to his wet shoulder. Didn't quite feel like returning the favor--Caspar's hair was a sopping tangle, and up close, Linhardt could see that it was mottled with duckweed. Well, it's the thought that counts.

He didn't have long to think, though, before Caspar kicked up, plunged feet-first into the hole. Linhardt tried admirably to hold him up, and barely succeeded--his knuckles were white on Caspar's biceps, husband nose-deep in the muddy water.

There was a period of fidgeting, and Linhardt took the time to thank the Goddess for the buoyancy of water--he'd never have been able to hold him otherwise. Caspar was small, sure, but made entirely of vigor and training weights.

Fishing is a patient man's game, and that's generally what made Linhardt such a master... but as the minutes wore on, even he was starting to get a little miffed.

Caspar kept muttering to himself, between gulps of air. Mostly garbled, through water in his mouth, but Linhardt heard _hurry up,_ hears _come get some, you big fishy bastard._

As much as he wanted Caspar to follow his dreams, to have his every earthly wish fulfilled... Linhardt wouldn't quite mind if this didn't work out. He'd be perfectly happy to keep sitting pretty at the top of the fisherman's heap, thank you very much, and it seemed a dangerous stunt besides.

Caspar screamed, because Linhardt was always right. And Linhardt yanked him back, with all of his force, staggering backwards to drag him away, and Caspar could not stop laughing.

"You _beast,"_ cried Linhardt, "you tricked me!"

But Caspar only shook his head--or, at least, that was what Linhardt thought he was trying to do. He was moving around rather a lot to be sure. "No, no no! I really--fuck, he's on my leg!! Pull!"

Linhardt knit his brows, but that was about all the labor he felt inclined to do. Instead, he cursed, and snapped his fingers, and a very brief, localized tempest slammed Caspar backward, free of the hole, making a point to keep his head above water.

"Thanks babe!" One hand flashed a quick thumbs-up, then disappeared again underwater.

"Fuck are you waiting for? Get _down_ there, he's _HUGE!_ "

A nod, obliging--Linhardt cast a little sphere of air around his head, ducked below.

He... he was, in fact, huge. Latched onto Caspar's calf, beating the water for all he was worth--the bastard must have been the size of an Aegir hound. Bigger, even, it was hard to tell in the murk. He looked almost draconic, with his powerful tail, trailing whiskers, and Caspar grappled him ably. Eagerly--Linhardt could hear muffled whooping, and couldn't help but laugh.

Really, it was...admirable. The foolhardiest thing he'd ever seen, really, and a full week's portion of exasperating, but that was just Caspar. As he dragged the great beast off his leg, planted his feet in the mud, as Linhardt surfaced to watch him haul the thing victorious above his head--that was him all over.

Stupid, cocky, with hair plastered in his eyes, a bit of algae on his teeth, front and center in that goofy grin. His chest heaving, fingers scrabbling to keep the thing in place, Caspar's lust for life was on full, proud, swaggering display.

"I got him! I--did you see that, Linny? I got him, he was all like RRRAAAAAHH, and oh shit, he fought better than that big guy last week--you remember him?"

"I do," said Linhardt, and only when he moved his mouth did he notice he'd been smiling too.

"Big sonofabitch! But I got him, I--woah!!"

The monstrosity in Caspar's grasp, wholly uninterested in his posturing, wrestled mightily. And Caspar almost kept him, almost managed to hook his fingers in that horrid, gaping maw--but the fish wriggled away, slimy as he was, and returned with a resounding splash to his domain.

Caspar stood, for a second, looking like the world's greatest fool--and that, too, was him. And then the way he laughed, doubled over, snorting water up his nose. Linhardt wasn't far behind, but still managed to guide him back to shore, to spill a little magic over the wicked bruising mark around his calf.

And then flopped down, heedless of all the muck, the rocks under his back, and laid like that. Catching breath, drying, squinting against the sun.

After a moment, Caspar's slick, scraped-up hand found his, and their chill, pruned fingers laced together, just tightly enough.

"So, do I win?"

Linhardt hemmed a moment, and when that got old, hawed. Mostly for show, but it was a legitimate query.

"Well," he began, in his most scholarly of tones. "Had I been out with my fishing rod... I'd not have had the strength to reel it in, I don't think."

Caspar's triumphant laughter broke into a waterlogged coughing jag, but it was precious all the same.

"Moreover, no matter what I did--trawling, even using magic... I'm not certain I'd have been able to lure it out of the hole. So... hm. I must concede," he admitted.

 _"Fuck_ yeah! Everything's comin' up Caspar!" He rolled, then, pressed a crushing kiss to his husband's cheek. Came up with hair trailing from his lips, still entirely unperturbed.

"Heh. I concede... _this time._ This line of inquiry simply must be interrogated further!"

Another jubilant whoop, this one just a mite too close to Linhardt's ear. "Yeah, BABY! Winner winner chicken DINNER!"

"But first, though... you owe me a few things." True, and Linhardt had mapped out what they were... but at the sight of his sweet husband pricking up his ears, listening intent, Linhardt almost lost them. "Ah...you've got to promise to never, ever do this by yourself. It is one of the dumbest things I have ever seen you do."

"Got it!"

"And then... carry me back to the inn, please. I find I'm too tired to warp."

A fervent nod, then, and a flex.

"And then, a hot bath--extremely thorough, thank you--and then a proper nap, and for all the _terror_ you've caused me, plus the bruise on my ego... I think it behooves you to hold me."

"Aww, sore loser?"

Linhardt quirked a brow. "Perhaps, but mostly just _sore."_

And Caspar snorted, scrambled to his feet. Extended one arm, beaming down at him with a dripping face, with chill-purpled lips, the most darling picture Linhardt had ever personally witnessed.

Well, except for the one he'd made yesterday. And the one that he would doubtless make tomorrow.

No matter what a terrible damn fool he was.

**Author's Note:**

> a thank you to matt, whose wonderful idea this was. also, to brad leone and matty matheson, whose stellar [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-JkcZRBUNtw) on noodling taught me everything i needed to know about this dumbfuck sport.
> 
> and thanks to you for reading this--it is very much not my usual subject matter, and i hope it worked for you!
> 
> let me know, if you please, and feel free to come talk anime chess himboes with me on [twitter (18+)!!!](https://twitter.com/bird_scribbles)


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